“But it is only for a short time. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t want to live in the castle and be treated like a princess. Everyone around here wants to work at Castello Coscarelli. WhenSignor Coscarellibought the castle, it was all in ruins. The land wasn’t farmed. Everything was dying. He brought it back to life, and he did it using local people and by paying good money. He is very generous. He pays for the town to have a music festival every year – he pays the artists who play in it so that no locals have to pay for tickets, and he paid the renovation costs of the church and when my mother needed a new hip–”
“He paid for it?”
“You know about her hip?”
She sighed. Poor Geppa. She’d been brainwashed.
But Callie wouldn’t be, and she wouldn’t be seduced either. It didn’t matter how wildly attractive she found him; she would never let herself forget what Dante Coscarelli was capable of or the kind of man he was beneath the gorgeous, gregarious exterior. He might have been able to buy all the local people, but he would never buy her. Callie was not for sale, not at any price, and tonight she was going to make damned sure he knew it and damned sure he backed the hell away from any thoughts of passing the long hours and days they had ahead of them in her bed.
Chapter Six
Dante took one look at Callie and burst out laughing.
She smiled sweetly, curtsied, and then took the seat Bernard held out for her.
None of the staff batted an eyelid that while Dante had clothed himself in a snazzy charcoal suit with tie and waistcoat, Callie had joined him for dinner wearing a tightly wrapped grey towelling robe that fell to her calf, a small act of rebellion but a bigger mark of intent.
Two cups of strong coffee had helped fortify her mind to what she needed to do. Her mental armoury was secure, but now she needed to keep her physical composure. Her senses were already reacting to the divine spicy citrus scent dancing into her airwaves, and when she caught his warm, dark eyes, a pulse hidden deeply in her core contracted.
She could do this. Mind over matter.
“You didn’t like any of the dresses?” he asked.
She gave her best nonchalant shrug. “Can’t say I tried any of them on.”
“Don’t you like wearing beautiful clothes?”
“Oh, I’m as vain as the next woman, I just prefer not to wear clothes designed to titillate men.”
“How do you know they’re designed to titillate men if you didn’t try them on?”
“Number one, you chose them, number two, I didn’t need to try them on to know.”
“Number one, I didn’t choose them, Tullia did.”
Well, that flummoxed her. “You got yoursisterto choose clothes for me?”
“She knows more about women’s fashion than I do and has an excellent eye.”
“How on earth did you explain to your sister your need for a quick delivery of women’s clothes?”
“With the truth – that I had a house guest who didn’t pack enough clothes for her stay with me.”
“Aforcedstay with you.”
“Semantics. How are your blisters?”
“Stinging.”
“If the pain gets too much and you want me to carry you to bed later, I will be more than happy to oblige. Wine?”
“Yes to the wine, absolutely not to the being carried to bed.”
Her irrepressible captor laughed and filled her glass with red wine. “Sure about that are you?”
She reached over to the antipasti platter and helped herself to a breadstick and, smiling, snapped it in half. “Very.”
“When you change your mind, just let me know.”
